


Songs of hatred and love

by JaybirdTheAuthor



Category: South Park
Genre: AU, Aged-Up Character(s), M/M, Probably smut in the future, mature - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25115503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaybirdTheAuthor/pseuds/JaybirdTheAuthor
Summary: AU of Kenny being in Craig’s gang and Stan being a sad little sad boy. (also first time not on Wattpad—I’m trying sorry if I’m fucking it up)
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Stan Marsh/Kenny McCormick
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sup, enjoy, hi.

Kenneth McCormick had always known himself to be a bit of an idiot so to say. He wouldn’t even make it a ‘so to say’—he just is. He can’t help himself from hanging off the back of a car at a new eighteen years of age and screaming drive as Clyde, who he considers his best friend, sips on the stolen booze of the night with his boyfriend showing disappointment for how his friend and lover ended up only with a small, monotone, ‘I fucking hate you guys’. He considers himself a delight to be around, as you might be able to tell by the laughter of everyone but their driver—then again to get Craig to laugh is not something you just do, you calculate and seek him out slightly happy already, you plan the perfect joke and strike so suddenly he doesn’t have time to react. 

Listening to Tweek proclaim he has to be home for work soon in a slight panic as Token and Nichole take to comforting him is the activity he has gotten used to. He’s never been useful for the twitchy thing—other than making him laugh sometimes and busting him out of his house once—Kenny just doesn’t really have the emotional intelligence to help someone with such serious anxiety, he never has and he doesn’t think he will—he’s not useful for something like that. He’s never been useful for something like that in any way and he doesn’t know what’s the use in changing such shit.

Kenny’s content trying his best to ignore the buzzing of everyone’s voices while also listening to them just enough, hanging off the back of the car too packed full for all of them in a glorious attempt at being an adrenaline junkie because of the rocks continuously hitting against him, his head, his hands, his everything. He’s sure a few flew into his mouth at some point but he’s had worse than that in his mouth.

“Yo, Kenny,” Clyde calls out for his best friend when the other blonde has been dropped off and the straight people in the car have started to get awkwardly close, Nichole practically on Token’s lap, “You hear about Marsh?”

“What was there to hear?” Kenny questions. He never really got to know Stanley, he doesn’t know why but something about the other male just didn’t sit well with him when he was a kid, something just felt off after they went to preschool—or something. They were friends of sort until five, spoke once in a while (if their babbling could be called conversation) but then it just stopped, turned into sitting in the same classroom but not talking.

“Got caught with the police for something,” Craig speaks up. Oh so Kenny really is out of the loop this time. Clyde? Clyde knowing something before him is completely believable, Clyde’s got a cheerleader for a beard and the girl loves to talk. Kenny isn’t even caught up but Craig actively avoids drama, actively avoids anything if it isn’t talking about final fantasy or that racer show he can’t remember the name of.

“Stanley?” Kenny questions in surprise. Okay. He doesn’t know Stan by any sense of the word but Stan, in trouble and police are like three different sentences sown together by the smallest thread—Stan’s practically the image of an untaintable good boy if you don’t count Butters (which, he doesn’t, that isn’t a boy. That is an angel—he’ll ask God to confirm he accidentally put an angel on Earth), “What the Hell did he do? Jaywalk?”

“Vandalism or something, I don’t fucking remember,” Craig speaks, finally dropping off Token and Nichole at his house while talking, everyone waving a goodbye to each other, “I think he got caught with spray paint in hand or something like that. Mum asked if I’m friends with him—it’s a pretty big deal.”

“What’s happening with him then?” Kenny questions. If it’s a big deal, there must be a punishment or something more than a slap on the wrist. Then again, he would be a hypocrite, he just never got caught doing the bad shit he’s done in his life because he isn’t, how you say, stupid. Well he is stupid but there is a difference getting caught pants down and not knowing how the fuck to figure out the left side of the triangle—namely his stupidity doesn’t fucking matter as soon as you leave school, as soon as he’s at a job that doesn’t require him to count triangles. Maybe language, he’s apparently good at English.

“He’s not getting anything from the police—other than washing it off. Or that’s what dad said, he knows some of the cops,” Clyde speaks, taking more booze, “Honestly I don’t understand why he did it. Isn’t he too nice to do something like that? Like I’m not going to say I like him—I don’t know him that well.. but he just doesn’t seem the type to write something bad on a wall or something.”

“You’re the one to speak about being nice,” Craig speaks, a sarcastic laugh coming out his throat as he looks out the window and turns the car again, “But agreed. He’s just too lawful.”

“Well, nonetheless,” Kenny speaks, stretching as he steps out the car. He’s not going home yet, oh most definitely not, he isn’t going into that hellhole as long as he can actually avoid it, “He did it, not much more debate around that. Thanks for the ride, Emo. Go have fun with your candy cloud boyfriend.”

“Enjoy,” Clyde speaks, looking over to Craig pointedly as he just grunts something like ‘see you’, nodding, “He wants you to enjoy too. If you need anything, call me or Token, we’re here.”

“Unless you’re getting your brains fucked out, don’t worry, I won’t need it tonight. I’m gonna be okay.”  
“Keep your notifications on, incase someone else needs it? Love you.”  
“Will do, love you too, have fun.”  
“Bye, Kenny.”  
“Bye, Clyde.”

And with that he is on his way to the notes of some random song Token told him to listen to, considering their common taste for a certain style, though this is almost annoying to him. This one has a buildup but no drop—he almost changes it when something grabs onto his arm, bringing him down as whatever it is sways and falls against him, pushes him into the snow.

He takes his moment looking at the figure on top of him, blue eyes staring back at him intently with a clouded unfocused feeling to the action, the eyes seeming almost like they’re unable to focus on his though they’re clearly trying, intensely trying, to look straight at him. And it doesn’t take a genius to know who this is even with the strong scent of alcohol and jacket seemingly left behind. And no matter how annoying it is to think that this happened, that someone crashed into him, he decides to be bigger than to just keep walking and leave the guy in the snow, just laying around and waiting for the next person to be a better person than the one he bumped into.

“You okay?” Kenny questions, trying his best to stand up without pushing the almost jelly like drunk into the snow, giving out his hand as the other sits there on his knees, “Are you hurt?”

The intense stare says very little—it’s a bit off to Kenny to see someone so out of it, it almost feels too complete for him to be drunk. He almost feels too absolutely unfunctioning for it to be anything but a deeper issue within him—he just doesn’t know what that issue may be, he isn’t one to know that kind of shit.

The other makes a sudden quick move, grabbing his hand with tears in his eyes as it dawns on Kenny, something he’s absolutely stunned by. Stan’s not drunk, he’s high on something, absolutely nothing else could explain this in his eyes.

“Sorry I—I didn’t—fuck.”

He looks at the shorter Male with concern, the ability to form a sentence feels too completely broken to make any sense to him. How is it that badly fucked up? 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to speak. I’m going to take you home, okay?” Kenny speaks, attempting to be gentle to absolutely shit results but not horrible enough to make him feel like he completely fucked up. There’s nothing he sucks at more than humans, interacting with them, other than when he knows the human well or knows what’s wrong with them, the only times that changes in any way possible, he can actually be good with friends.

Stan doesn’t reply to him, not really walking straight either. After a few moments of trying to balance him, Kenny sighs, putting him onto a bench and asking him to please get on his back so he can carry him, getting a soft ‘okay’ and a very very bad few attempts before he’s finally on his back, finally easier to carry.

Kenny doesn’t really know where he lives actually—he remembers on a faint level but the only way to tell is to look around for their car or something similar, look for Stan’s dad’s car or Stan’s mum’s car. Or maybe he’ll remember when he passes—or Stan makes a noise about being home.

The last one seems unlikely seeing as he can hear Stan’s breath slow and steady to a rhythm that sounds like he may possibly be asleep on his back. He doesn’t dare talk in care he wakes him up and thus doesn’t check but he just sounds like he’s sleeping, sort of like his sister after long nights outside playing in the snow or doing chores... if you could actually call them chores. They’re a tiny bit more innovative than the average chore.

He seems to find the house, smelling the scent of food from the inside and seeing the car before walking up to the door, pushing the doorbell with his side and waiting a moment before Stan’s mother opens the door. Sharon, was it? He feels like it’s Sharon. He hasn’t heard it in forever so he wouldn’t really know, would he?

“Thought I would return him,” Kenny speaks, looking at the unreadable expression with an almost guilty feeling. If his mother saw him in that state, he would be done for. He can only hope Stan’s mother is more understanding about the issue at hand.

“Thank you, Kenny.”

She’s still unreadable as she helps take Stan off his back, Stan shaking his head slightly from his momentary nap and grabbing a hold of his mother with an apology. Kenny does not dare to intrude what the apology is for specifically, turning on his heels and simply walking off into the distance, hearing the door close with one last thank you as his steps take him away.


	2. Diner dinner

“Am I hearing you right? You, you ran into Stan Marsh drunk off his ass and high on something and got him home?” Token questions him, looking to him with confusion, “Stanley Marsh, the boy who spray painted the wall, the football player they kicked off the team.”

“Wait they kicked him off?” Kenny questions, throwing on his shirt and eyeing the empty corner of the locker room, “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah, they kicked him off for the spray painting incident. Anyway, you mean to say you brought him to his home and now his father is asking to talk to you about something after school?” The taller Male continues to question, closing his bag, “I’m sorry to say, Ken, I have no idea what you should do. I don’t think I’d meet his dad but that’s not—it’s not because I think he’s not—I just, y’know, I hear he’s a bit vile when he’s drunk. Or like, y’know, racist, I wouldn’t want to be around that for a second but I don’t know about what you actually want to do. Just, if it gets bad, Craig or I can pick you up if you need help.”

“I’m meeting him,” Kenny speaks, pulling his bag over his shoulder as well before cracking his knuckles over the top of his head, “I mean he’s taking me to dinner. If I could get a sugar daddy that nice I would be happier than Craig claims to be.”

Token let’s his head do an extremely simple nod, a nod that makes Kenny feel pretty good about what he’s going to be doing in going to dinner with Randy Marsh and hopefully getting to talk about something other than his son, hey, the man has a farm. Maybe he could get a job on it, or something, he’ll have to present it in an educated manner or something. He doesn’t really know. All he knows is that he knows he has a farm and probably could use a pair of hands—if he asks he might get it, he did kinda help his son after all, what if he gets rewarded for it. He would like to be rewarded even if it wasn’t that much of an ‘going out of his way’ thing. Who knows?

He says his byes to Token, walking off into the parking lot. He does know the look of Randy’s car, he’s seen it a million on the yard. He’s seen it a lot of times in front of the bar he used to waiter at for a while before they figured they wouldn’t have a 15 year old around alcohol and figured that they could fire him for being late to a shift he never got told about—good times. He probably served Randy there, he has a history of being a drunk just like Kenny’s dad. Nothing he hasn’t seen before, he’s expecting to drive him home or something. 

He’s surprised to find Randy next to his car, him opening the door for him to sit in like some celebrity, sitting down and putting his bag down in between his legs before taking note that Stan is in the back, blue eyes staring at full attention into the mirror almost to make it clear he’s there, now much more focused than before. Kenny doesn’t exactly know what to do in this situation, what should he even say, ‘hope you’re feeling better?’

“How was school?” Randy asks with a smile, looking toward him and ignoring his sons possessed stare. It’s honestly scaring Kenny quite a lot, of course it is, that’s a bit... okay not insane but a bit creepy nonetheless, his eyes are too focused to be high unless it’s drugs he doesn’t actually know. Unlikely, his backyard is a meth cave, what the fuck has he not learned from those fucking people.

“Good,” Kenny responds, simple, short, he doesn’t exactly need to make his speech much longer, Staring back at the boy in the back through the mirror, “How has your day been?”

“Thank you for asking. It’s been rather good,” Randy replies, continuing after starting the car and putting on the heating. Kenny notes the misclick of no heating for the backseat, pushing the button himself to no reaction from Randy, “The farm’s pretty good, nothing to do so early into the year but otherwise it’s a good time. We’re probably planting in a few weeks so I should get to ordering things for it, I’m going to have a helping hand in Stanley, I believe.”

“Yeah,” Stan speaks, voice much more composed and lower than last time Kenny saw him, almost disobedient in a way. He doesn’t know why it’s such an easy thing to note that he has the voice of an emo idol, emo singer, deep enough to be a guy and just rebellious but also done with force. He’s never noticed how his voice sounds before, it’s fascinating to listen to, “I do every fucking year, don’t I?”

He feels the resentment in such a simple sentence, the venom in the ‘fucking’, confusion forcing itself into him. How many years have they lived at the farm again? Seven? Five? Nine? Four? Two? Certainly not one, that wouldn’t be every year. What is every year? He certainly wasn’t born on the farm, he remembers that much about their childhood, maybe they moved there when he was five—that would be thirteen years.

“Stanley!” Randy speaks, raising his voice to a small ‘sorry’ and a retreat into the corner, Kenny thinking of something to say to them both. Not even both, perhaps just Randy. He could talk to just Randy about it.

“I would be glad to help out,” Kenny speaks with a smile, a fake one, he doesn’t exactly like how small the previously confident Stan has become, a wet dog washed with the hose of his father’s voice, it really reminds him of his sister, an image nobody should give the blond more than in positives, “Paid obviously, but I’ll take small rates and food as payment.”

“We can talk about it,” Randy speaks with a smile, a deep silence following for mere minutes before Randy looks to the mirror, “That’s what we call a good work ethic, Stan.”

Kenny’s almost amused by the idea that he is the ideal worker—he’s a white trash cunt with a shit home who wants to work at all, wants to be away from home and to get money and food. He can’t see the bad in all of this, he can’t see the harm in any of this actually. But he’s not an ideal worker by any word, not the ideal thought to work to maybe afford to get the fuck out of somewhere. But hey, each their own, he guesses.

“I hope you didn’t miss Stan at school, you’re friends right? My wife said he needed to sleep off yesterday,” Randy speaks, Stan getting smaller with shame, “Frankly, I didn’t agree with her but a happy wife is a happy life, you know? So he’s slept while you did things at school. Not that he’s doing particularly fantastic when he’s in class either and he even lost his scholarship by getting kicked from the team.”

“Dad, he doesn’t—.”  
“Yes he does. He needs to know this.”  
“Dad, please, wasn’t the Kyle one enough?”  
“No! If you’re going to go out taking my fucking pills and drinking my fucking whiskey, you better fucking know that all of your friends will know about it!”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“You better be! Your friend had to bring you home, be fucking glad he did! Be fucking glad he didn’t fucking leave you, he’s a good friend.”  
“Dad he’s not—.”

Kenny wants to sink into his seat, disappear, as the argument continues and continues and continues and fuck how does Randy have the lungs to scream like this, at his son. Then again, he doesn’t know the answers to the questions he finds himself getting, Maybe this is a justified screaming. The taking someone else’s pills seems serious enough to count for such a thing but he doesn’t exactly know what a healthy parent child relationship is.

The parking lot of the diner brings the arguing to a stop, Stan mumbling an ‘I’m sorry’ as his dad leaves the car, wiping a few tears that immediately make Kenny feel so fucking stupid. Why didn’t he stop it? Why didn’t be tell Randy to layoff him? He’s the guest, he should’ve, but he just fucking froze and he feels ashamed it the whole way walking into the diner.

So when Randy says he’s going ahead and taking a piss, leaving them at the line of the diner, Kenny thinks for a moment about what to say before getting a piece of paper and handing it to Stan to wipe his eyes, wipe out the tears, the shorter man saying a simple ‘thank you’ before using it for his own purposes, getting the tears off his cheeks and then blowing his nose for an unusually long moment, Kenny thinking of what to possibly say to make this situation any better. He doesn’t like the crying the other man is doing, he doesn’t like crying. Crying isn’t something he’s good at handling, he’s too awkward for this.

“Knock knock.”  
“What?”  
“You know how knock knock jokes work, don’t you Stan?”  
“Yeah but why now?”  
“Knock knock.”  
“Who’s there?”  
“Interrupting cow.”  
“Interrupting cow w—.”  
“Mooooooooooo.”

Stan flashes a brief smile, blinking his eyes a few times before it falters, he does seem a bit happier though so Kenny decides to try again.

“Stan.”  
“Yes?”  
“What’s green and has wheels?”  
“A fucking swimming pool.”  
“A fucking what?”  
“You heard me.”  
“What fucking swimming pool is GREEN, Stanley?”  
“I don’t know. What is it actually?”  
“Grass.”

Stan hits his own forehead, indicating this wasn’t the funniest joke Kenny has told, okay, up the game. He’s gonna do better than that, thinking for a moment of other ‘its so bad you laugh’ jokes before he gets one out,

“A dyslexic man walks into a bra.”

“If I could walk into a bra I would too,” Stan speaks, smiling, Kenny thinking that this might just be a bit too easy but not having a chance to question before Stan starts talking to him, “So how are you?”

“I’m okay. How are you?” He asks in response, getting a simple smile in response. He doesn’t want to tell him that he still feels hurt, that’s alright, he isn’t gonna force that out of him, he’s just going to have to keep the conversation going without a simple aid such as how bad he feels right now, “What do you do during free time?”

“Other than wonder if I should die and if anything matters in this world?” Stan questions, laughing only slightly after his statement to indicate it probably wasn’t as much of a joke as he wants Kenny to take it for though Kenny politely laughs as well, “Listen to music I guess. I did write poetry for a while, not good but y’know I tried. I guess I still do that somewhat, play guitar and take care of my animals. I have a dog and a bird so those two, yeah, they’re quite the hard mix to get anything to work with. They’re hard to make any mix work out though because the dog wants to eat the bird but the bird wants to vibe with the dog and when you put those two mentalities together it’s chaos and pain for the bird for being so fucking social. They’re getting better, my old dog was really good with my bird but the new one hasn’t quite realised I don’t want it to die yet. Realised yet, I never want it to die. Well I do because if it doesn’t it’s going to be in a lot of pain but she’s supposed to live about fifteen more years so I don’t want her to die before those fifteen years but I do want her to die eventually even if I don’t want to lose her so ideally I’m dead before she is, you understand me right? Shit I’m rambling.”

Kenny just nods along, he’s not that into talking anyway, “What songs can you play?”

“A few, I used to do guitar hero but y’know—it kind of didn’t help that much so when I picked up an actual guitar it was different and I’m not a quick learner, give me notes and a few weeks and I should learn anything that’s moderate to amateur level.”

“Do you read?” Kenny questions, not wanting the conversation to die, “What kind of things?”

“I don’t read much actually. But since you asked, I’m going to assume you do. What kind of things do you read.”

“Bit of everything, I’m more of a writer.”

“Anything you like more than most?”

Kenny thinks for a second before getting out a fairly confident response, “Detective, noir or fantasy I think. I always wanted to read this one book but it’s a bit eh to most people and technically doesn’t fit those categories so,” Kenny speaks with shame, almost feeling stupid to be talking about this.

“What is it?”

“Holes. A lot of schools read it and I was waiting to read it but it’s absolutely nowhere in this town so I’m never going to actually read it.”

“Oh I got you,” Stan speaks, smiling, “watched the movie once, it actually was a lot of fun to watch. I didn’t understand it much because I couldn’t focus but I actually quite liked the parts I could focus on. It’s a good movie.”

“Never watched,” Kenny speaks, looking to him, “I’ve never watched too many movies.”

“Dude, really?” Stan asks, eyes wide, “I took you for a guy who’d seen a lot of films, you seem like a Star Wars Guy. Like you’ve probably seen Star Wars but I took you for like, Star Wars and indie films I wouldn’t understand because they’re ‘made to be artistic’ but I just think look fucking weird. I honestly didn’t take you for a guy who’s barely seen movies! You don’t give off that picture at all! You look like you have a dick up your ass about some people not getting how amazing some French named film is and trying to explain to us peasants that true art cannot have words in it and must be black and white.”

Kenny just laughs, rolling his eyes before stretching, Randy coming back just in time and getting them all their food with Kenny passing a smile to Stan when he looks away, Stan returning it immediately. Hey maybe they’ll be friends. Maybe the conversation was a bit awkward but they’ll get over that, who knows, he seems like a good guy.

“Can I have your number?” Stan questions Kenny as they sit down, the older boy immediately listing off the digits like that, like a snap, Randy sort of looking at the two with a suspicious look as Stan gets his number onto a piece of paper with a pencil from Kenny’s pocket, thanking him for borrowing it with a silence falling afterwards until the food has been eaten.

“So, Kenny, about the farm work?” Randy starts, Kenny immediately straightening up, “When can you start?”

“When you need me.”

“How’s in a week?”

“Perfect.”


End file.
